


Flesh and Club

by CentellaWrites



Series: The Rick and Lucy Saga [8]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angry Sex, Bondage, Bottom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Date Night, Doggy Style, Dysfunctional Relationships, Ex-wife character (Rick and Morty), Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fawning, Lucy gets revenge but it's by NOT having sex with him, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Power Play, Public Display of Affection, Public Humiliation, Public Nudity, Punk Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Rick Being an Asshole, Semi-Public Sex, They're both so hot for each other, Young Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), they have a fight, until later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CentellaWrites/pseuds/CentellaWrites
Summary: Originally written June 2016Conclusion to the Rick and Lucy saga. A reluctant Lucy goes on a date with Rick to the crappiest club featuring the crappiest band. After a small fight while trying to have sex in the bathroom, they both start humiliating the other.In public.And it more than makes up for it.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Rick and Lucy Saga [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782028
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Flesh and Club

**Author's Note:**

> Final chapter in this Rick and Lucy saga. I fell off Rick and Morty HARD after I wrote this, and never really returned to Lucy as a character since.
> 
> But she was a great exploration and I'm glad I went on that journey with her and Rick. This final installment is a pretty kinky (still dysfunctional) public affair between the two that involves a lot of exhibitionism and humiliation. I had a LOT of fun writing it.

“You s*BURP*uuuuck!” shouted an inebriated Rick, prolonging his burp so the band members victimized by his heckling could hear his disgust in more ways than one.

His wife beside him touched her forehead to her palm, sweat collecting from embarrassment. “Honey, that’s the 5th time you said that,” she begged, visibly displeased but hiding her face from the crowd. “Y-you know, the band’s not  _ th-that _ bad … give ‘em a break!” She only agreed to go to this club with him, on the first night of her week off, to see the opening act. But now that free Guinness night was starting to get to him, she couldn’t just leave him behind.

“What? Seriously? Th-th-these guys are a joke. Yeah, that’s called a bass, why don’t you start playing it like one?!” He pointed to the bassist, the poor guy now startled into stopping. The band’s song fell apart momentarily, then the drummer made a half-successful attempt at getting them back on track, losing a drumstick in the process. “They need criticism or they’ll just … keep … th-th-they’ll get no where, Lucy. Just runnin’ on the same sucky punk treadmill their straight-edge fans probably eat up like candy.” He took another swig from his liquid courage and, spraying spittle, sputtered, “I-I-I couldn’t sound this bad if I was drunk!”

“You are drunk, cock sucker!” the band’s fed-up bassist heckled back. The mosh-less pit where disillusioned young adults would have been thrashing, had the band been good, turned to give the drunk a collective look of sourness.

Rick’s bloodshot eyes went wide as windows and he tried to leap over the table in front of him. Drinks dropped to the floor, glass shattering. “What the fuck did you call me??!!”

“Rick?!” Lucy screeched, still covering her face, however ineffective that was. She grabbed the back of his jacket and his stumbling form adjusted unsuccessfully to the sudden inertia. Giggling nervously, trying not to make a scene after hearing hushed voices exclaim “oh shit”s, she pulled her hobbling husband back to the seat next to her. “You promised you wouldn’t embarrass me tonight!”

“D-d-don’t take me to the  _ Fuck the Government, We Mean it This Time _ club then.”

“Of course, because you never get publicly drunk and make a scene elsewhere, no, no, just here.” After a good round of silent temple-rubbing, she added, “Also, this isn’t the  _ Fuck the Government _ club anymore, didn’t you see? They renovated. Now it’s the  _ We Used to Mean It, But Then We Saw the Loan They Gave Us to Renovate  _ club.”

“Christ, punk is dying faster than that cat on stage. Oh, wait, that’s just the SHITTY VOCALIST!”

After being successfully flicked off by the singer, Rick’s shoulder was given a light Lucy slap. Then she blew a lock of hair from her face, slumping back into her seat with disappointed crossed arms.

Rick eyed her saltily through another swig of his bottle, the black liquid spilling down his chin, the foam collecting on his upper lip. “Here,” he suddenly offered her the bottle. “Get rid of those nerves, down the hatch, come o*BURP*n.”

Lucy pondered for a second, realistically gauging the pros and cons of drinking tonight. She shrugged and, with minor disgust on her face, pushed the bottle away. “M-m-maybe later.”

“Y-y-you know it’s the only thing that stops you from going red every time I say something to this AURAL FUCK FEST!” He emphasized the last phrase and was immediately shushed by Lucy’s hand to his mouth. The group of listeners, sitting at surrounding tables, cussed in their direction, attempting to pipe Rick down. The lead guitarist rolled his eyes.

“Really? So  _ I _ have to drink in order for you to be quiet?” Lucy fumed through gritted teeth.

Rick’s voice muffled under her hand, and she suddenly felt his tongue peek between his lips.

“What, are you a 5-year-old when you’re drunk now - ?” Lucy inquired sarcastically, but stopped when Rick slowly slid his hand up her arm, then grasped her palm and lowered her fingers into his stout-stained mouth.

“Nope,” he teased, licking up and down her hand. “B-b-but, uh, keep getting flushed and I could keep acting like one … in front of all these people.”

Lucy shivered, the slimy application of his wet tongue plus the slow opening and closing of his eyes when her fingers filled his mouth sent a pulse between her legs. “O-o-okay, way-to-go, you win.” With a defensive blush, she pulled her fingers from his lips and folded her hands on her skirt. Then she defeatedly grabbed his bottle and downed the remaining liquid, the creamy foam hitting her throat’s nerves lazily, nothing like the fiery sting of whiskey. She coughed, forgetting how bitter Guinness felt when it plopped unsatisfactorily in the pit of her stomach, the after taste staining her breath.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean take the whole thing.” Rick turned the bottle upside down to emphasize its emptiness.

Lucy hit her chest with her wet fist and burped. “You’re not getting anymore tonight.” She patted the side of his face, but quick enough that he couldn’t grab her hand and tease her again. A large part of her wanted him to, but an even larger part was just not in the mood.

Finally, the song was over. Lucy had been unaware this whole time, it was no doubt the longest punk song she’d ever heard. Disheartened clapping flooded the room, laden with a couple “boos” from the pit. The singer rolled his displeased eyes again and shouted, “Yeah, well fuck you too!” He dropped the mic, and was quickly reprimanded by a screaming sound engineer from the back of the room. Among the expletives being tossed, the club owner, a woman no more than 4 foot 11 inches tall, waddled to the stage to pick the dropped mic up. She tapped it with a jittery hand to see if it was still working, then coughed into it, causing a wave of feedback that broke the barrier to everyone’s unsuspecting eardrums.

With both their ears covered, Lucy and Rick met eyes and exploded in buzzed giggles, both getting a kick out of the scene that was unfolding.

“Um …” the feeble club owner piped up once the feedback was fixed. “So … I mean, we had karaoke planned for the rest of the evening, so … go get ‘em everyone.” She slipped the mic back into its stand and waddled away.

Half the crowd was gone by the time everything got set up, save for lingering couples at the tables and other apathetic Guinness-lovers with nothing better to do tonight.

Rick spent the next 30 minutes or so attempting to reignite Lucy’s booze-laden fits of laughter, slowly inching his chair closer with each passing minute until they were in a quasi-cuddling state, fingers lightly caressing shoulders. When Rick was finally back to his inhibitions and bitter lucidity, his wife remained a bit woozy from the dark beer he could smell on her breath with each light giggle. She was still sour, he could tell, but tried everything he could to get closer.

Lucy watched Rick’s eyes scan the room and find the one-stall bathroom down the hall by the bar. Before she could fully catch up to the mischief in his eyes, he gripped her neck and lowered his head by her ear. “You wanna fuck in the bathroom?” he propositioned.

He couldn’t have been more blunt, but he knew how much his hushed voice sent waves of pulsation down Lucy’s skirt, no matter what he said.

Her head was still swimming, and despite the heat between her legs, the slight buzz had her remain indifferent. She wasn’t getting less bitter about how nasty he’d gotten anytime soon, but the mood wasn’t demolished at least. With a shrug, she complied, “Sure.”

“Sure?” Rick asked, his carnal expression suddenly turned skeptical. “If that’s a ‘no’, say it clearer.”

“Oh, it’s not a ‘no’! Just more of a … sure. I guess.” She giggled again. Her buzzed tongue slurred more ambiguous phrases and she laughed the insecurity away.

Rick mused. “I-I-I, uh … hmm.”

Lucy rubbed her hand along his back. “Oh, whatever, fine, yes, it’s a yes, let’s do it.”

Her husband still looked unsure, but shrugged a shoulder and took her hand, leading them to the bathroom.

She moved sluggishly with him, still quite coordinated, but with an absence of that bubbly excitement and blushing Rick was used to eliciting. They entered the bathroom and Lucy turned on the lights.

The room was of average size, though a bit cramped as one would imagine. In between the door on the far left and stall on the far right was a sink, and a mirror right above that. The couple scanned themselves in the mirror, adjusting their eyes from the dark club lighting to this bright fluorescence. Lucy tugged a bit at her black skirt, which was high-waisted and holding a dark magenta button-up T. She wore Rick’s favourite patterned and checkered knee-high socks today, with her staple Mary Jane’s on her feet, shuffling from the lack of coordination. Rick’s eyes traveled up and down her body in the mirror and lingered on her hands toying between her legs, fitting in the folds of the skirt with modesty he was soon to violate at her wanting.

Rick donned his jet black torn skinny jeans with his even blacker boots that looked like he’d picked them out of a dumpster. Tucked into those desperately tight pants was a bleach-white T-shirt with the classic Ramones logo stamped in the middle in nebula black DIY ink. Draped over his shoulders was his faux-leather jacket, made up of noisy material that fumbled with his every movement. The jacket had soft stretchy cloth on the wrists and waist areas, tight against his sweating hot-blooded skin. He ran his hand through his dark hair, pulling the side-licked spikes outward and licking his lips.

Lucy breathed in slowly and closed her eyes. Usually such a hungry sight would send her over her edge, but her indifference was still at front-and-center. She felt unnaturally cold and distant towards him, perhaps even simply annoyed. Nights like these where he would work up a scene with his gritty ego, the harsh anarchist inside him from when they first met bubbling to the surface extracted with Guinness, always left a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn’t deny her attraction to his roughness, but tonight, very little was exciting her. Just like the crappy band playing earlier, now replaced with the muffled sounds of crappy karaoke, she saw and heard nothing new.

Rick tried to care less about the uncertainty in her face, eyes transfixed on her bending before him. She presented her flat but perky ass, the black folds in her skirt lifting up to show the faint outline of her panties. She folded her arms on the sink and planted her head downward, ready to accept all he was about to give, with little to no contribution.

Slowly, surely, sensually, he grabbed a handful of napkins, lay them on the tiled ground, then lowered his knees on them, his face now level with her peeking panties between her skirt-covered ass cheeks. His thin hands traveled up from her ankles to her thighs, fingers peeling at the knee-high socks like they were going to be taken off, but anytime they got close he stopped. As he toyed with the socks he bit his lip, the touches titillating his trapped cock.

Lucy twitched from the tickles of her husband’s fingers, but only physically. She gave another sharp inhale when he pushed the skirt out of the way and pressed his face to her ass. Still toying with her socks, he teethed the panties, taking a bite then releasing it to ricochet against her unmarked skin. He kissed all along her backside and thighs, then lingered on the peeking pussy, pulling the panties aside and pressing a thin pink tongue to her slick slit. “Mmm,” he goaded, taking a long lingering lick along her labia, “Y-you taste good today, gorgeous.”

“Th-thanks,” Lucy giggled.

“Thanks?” Rick grabbed fistfulls of her ass and lifted the underwear. He rolled the garment down her legs, then worked on the skirt. He unceremoniously unzipped the back of the black cloth and pulled it off, while continuing to lap the mound between his wife’s shivering legs. He was trying to get her to say something more than just a “thanks”. Tantalizing further, he revelled in how weak-kneed she went when he tickled her clit with just the tip of his tongue, his entire face now buried in her wetness.

She couldn’t deny how much she loved this, but she barely reciprocated his sounds, opting only to show her uncomfortable arousal with quiet breaths.

Rick paused. Awakened from his buzzed sexual stupor, his suspicion proved correct. “W-w-what’s up, babe?” he asked after releasing and wiping some of her off his reddening lips. “Not that I’m not hella good at this, but you’re, uh, usually not this quiet.”

The redhead grew a bit impatient. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Aight.” He popped his lips and sat up. “Lemme know when you’re actually ready, ‘kay? M-my knees are startin’ to give out.”

“Riiiick,” Lucy whined, sinking her head back into her arms. “It’s really not that big a deal, I’m just feeling a little off.”

“Naah, babe. I can tell when it’s more than that.” He took off his jacket and ran his hands through his hair again, the pent-up frustration visibly perspiring on his forehead. Untucking his shirt and reaching a hot hand between his legs, he muttered, “You’re not a very enthusiastic drinker, ya know. I-i-it’s like once your inhibitions are gone, so’s your energy.”

“Yeaah, sorry,” Lucy drawled, still bent over, sudden frustration making a temporary return. She was desperate to not be responsible for his blue balls. “But it’s not your fault!”

Rick raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror.

“Really, it’s not!”

His tongue languidly lubed his lips and he sauntered over to her again, this time applying a long finger to her sex. “You sure?”

She gasped, attempting more enthusiasm this time. “Yes, yes, I’m sure, Rick.” She pushed herself onto his hand to prove it, drenching him down to his knuckle.

Rick laughed through his nose and complied skeptically. With his left hand, he tentatively trailed up and down her goosebump-adorned skin, all the way till he reached her hair and gave it a good yank. He soaked in her gasping moaning and reached his right hand around to meet her outer labia, parting her light pubic hair and making room for his exploration of her clit.

But, again, something was off. Her pleasure sounded too much like pleasing. Partaking in another intimate trial and error, he released her hair, lifted the shoulder off her buttoned top, pulling apart some buttons, and slid a sordid tongue from her shoulder blade to her neck. He paused on her pulse, first pressing his lips then baring his teeth and sinking them deep into the plump sweating skin.

“AhaaAAH!” she whined, gritting her teeth and slamming her fist to the marble sink. She whispered a string of expletives, music to Rick’s ears.

“What, I gotta draw blood for you to get excited right now, huh?” he murmured, thumbing the fresh bite mark.

“Fffff …” Lucy paused again, heat rising in her lower abdomen, but still a level of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Huh?” Rick repeated, speeding up his hand on her parted lips, attacking the reddening nub under his fingertips.

“I-I-I-I’m sorry… I don’t know …” Lucy begged between breaths, slamming her head back onto her arms with conflicted arousal.

The bulge in Rick’s skinny jeans was now pressed against the relaxing walls of her vagina, the tunnel ready for his entry more physically than emotionally. He wasted no time and angrily unzipped, his swaying swollen cock curling upward into her entrance. Her muscles tightened around him, his length unexpectedly welcomed with another squeaky moan of indeterminate emotion. “I don’t … mm …” Rick could barely hold back his aggressive pleasure, wanting her reciprocation more than his own orgasm. “I-I don’t get what’s so h-h-hard about telling me you’re not interested right now, huh? What’s up with that?”

“Mmm!” Lucy whined again, Rick’s rushed length filling her to the brim and sending sharp spine-tingling shivers through her. “I am! It’s more complicated than that, you know that! Fuck, you’re … n-n-not … mm …” He had a way of hitting her nerves she was certain no one else in the world, perhaps the multiverse, could ever compete with. “You’re telling a fish not to swim here, R-R-R-Rick.”

He sped his fingers up, moving swiftly from side-to-side, extracting more semi-orgasmic breaths. He rolled his eyes at the confusion in her voice, knowing she was still somewhat putting on an act. Years of practice rewarded him with the ability to time both their climaxes almost perfectly, and despite knowing what this next move would cost, anything was worth getting a clear emotion out of this woman.

“Unngh, Rick, I’m gonna - ” And he was out and his fingers removed.

He slid his pulsating dick from her moistness with a growl, anger swelling up at his own denied orgasm. With aggressive speed, he punched the hand drier on the opposite wall, causing her to jump from the sudden clanging of metal and subsequent fan noise.

In turn, her knees gave out and she gripped her mound, face red and steaming, voice a seething groan. Her hands were too late; her orgasm had completely disappeared, and the familiar aching in her stomach filled her pussy with an insatiable ravenousness. “Rick?!” came a breathy shout as she sunk to the floor, her back against the stall.

“Y-y-yeah, that’s what you get.” Turning away from her, he propped himself against the wall with one arm and finished himself off with the other. He humped into his fingers, breathed out a string of “ _ fuck _ ”s, and dribbled hot cum all over his hand with a pure, deep, uninhibited moan.

The room was silent save for the sounds of the couple catching their respective breaths and the hand drier eventually turning off.

“Rick …?” Lucy whispered, her head hazy from her heavy breaths.

“I, uh … I guess that orgasm wasn’t gonna be fake, huh?”

“Yeah … no shit.” It was exacerbated, not angry.

“Well, watching you try to fake an orgam’s like watching that poser band on stage. If I’m not doing my job, b-b-be a fucking a bitch about it.”

Running a hand through her disheveled hair, Lucy gave a shrug, a pained look on her face. “I just can’t do that, I-I’m … sorry - ”

“And stop apologizing!”

“I’m sorry!”

“What did I just - ?!” He stopped himself. He wasn’t stupid, he knew her life and relationship with him wasn’t a picnic, and reflexive apologies were a product of that. He was an asshole, but he was  _ her _ asshole, and he’d never try to make her feel like she didn’t deserve better. He looked her in the eyes. Fuck, she looked so desperate for that orgasm he’d deprived her of. “Goddammit. Okay. I just don’t like seeing you … you know …  _ not _ be into it. W-w-w-when your energy’s low, I’m low, you get what I’m saying?”

“I know, I get it. I’m just still pissed at you, I guess.”

Getting no where, Rick facepalmed. “Sure, fine, okay. You could have just said ‘no’ then, but fine, you’re doing your little act.”

They were oil and water; one apologizing like it was a second language to her, the other not able to apologize if his life depended on it. And usually, only he had to.

“Rick, let’s just get back to the table. There’s probably a line out the door for people waiting to use the bathroom, and I don’t want them to see this bite mark on my neck.” She picked herself up and checked out Rick’s teeth’s signature on her pulse. Behind her through the mirror, she noticed Rick perk up. A lightbulb went off, she could tell. “What?” she inquired.

“Nothin’.” He smirked.

“Nothin’?” she cautiously repeated.

Rick zipped his lips and threw away the metaphorical key. He was finally getting what he wanted; her excitement, her eyes growing wider in his direction, her apathy gone and finally a genuine look of sexuality.

Lucy’s heart beat in her temple. She thought she could read him like a book by now, but even after 4 years she barely got past the first page.

The couple helped each other adjust their sex-sweat-stained clothes, having had sex in public enough to know how to look upon re-entry, and made the trek back to their table. There was, in fact, a small line formed outside the bathroom, silent furies of impatience looking them in the eye as they exited. Rick smirked at them, even winking to one. Lucy covered her crimson face, whispering to herself a collection of derogatory terms for her husband. Rick smirked even wider in response.

Two more bottles of the black coffee-like poison awaited them when they reached the table. “Aww, would you look at that, Lucy? Some hydration.”

Lucy gave a half-hearted laugh when he downed it, and gulped a bit out of her own bottle. Rick payed extra attention, hoping she’d stop after a few sips.

“Ahem,” came the sudden feedbacking voice of the club owner who’d taken the stage after the last drunken karaoke singer left. “We have room for anyone else who wants to get in the spotlight.” Her meek voice made every word in her sentence sound like a question.

“Hey!” Rick yelled up to the stage. “You guys have ‘Rhinestone Cowboy’?”

Lucy almost choked on her current sip. “Wait, Rick, really?”

“Really?” the club owner mirrored. “You? You, i-i-i-in the Ramones T-shirt?”

“Yeah, bitch, you ever heard of different musical tastes?” He got up. “Well, now I have to sing it. Prove it to your ignorant ass.”

Lucy let out a guttural laugh and cheered him on facetiously while shaking her head. “Go get ‘em, babe.” She slapped the back of his leg when he took to the stage, then decided to leave the bottle on the table and follow him, getting a closer look. A few groans sounded from the bar-goers behind her. She couldn’t stop smiling when he fiddled with the microphone and cable, wrapping it around his left arm with all the grace of an uncoordinated studio intern.

“This one goes out to my wife, Lu*BURP*cy,” he spat as the song started. “A-a-and all the shit she’s put up with when out with me.” He winked in her direction. “Annnnd all the shit she’s  _ gonna _ put up with …”

“Wait … Rick?” She perked.

Before she could get a sentence out, Rick released his leather jacket to the ground and tucked his shirt back in, belting out a troped first verse, “ _ She’s been walkin’ these streets so long, singin’ the same ole song, she knows every crack in these dirty streets of Broadwayyyyy _ …” He wrapped the cable around his arm a couple times in rhythm. A couple cheers from those same bar-goers, now slightly impressed, echoed through the room. “ _ Where hustle’s the name of the game, and nice girls get washed away like the snow and the raaaiin _ .” After he continued the pre-chorus, he spied Lucy’s red face out of the corner of his eye. She was anticipatory, flushed, and, finally, characteristically expectant; just what he needed. A hot burst of arousal shot right through him, tantalized further by the whiff he got of her lingering scent on his right finger when his mouth moved closer to the mic.

Lucy looked like she’d just seen a ghost. She stared straight at her husband’s crotch, twitching so suddenly she couldn’t imagine it going unnoticed. In fact, she did hear a couple stunned “oh shit”s from behind her; she could have sworn she even heard a cat call and wolf whistle. His jeans were so tight, the treasures beneath them taunted by her growing discomposure when he stared back at her. “ _ Th-there’s been a loooad of compromisin’ _ …” he stuttered, not taking his eyes off his prize. “ _... on the road to my horizon … _ ”

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, _ Lucy thought to herself as her previously dry panties began dripping again.

Without any hesitation, Rick, a grin from ear to ear, grabbed her by the wrist, pulled her up to the stage, belted, “ _ But she’s gonna be here where the lights are shining on meeee _ !”, and threw the mic to the floor. He grabbed her awestruck face and, before she could even catch her footing, planted a sloppy Guinness-stained tongue into her mouth when the chorus hit.

The feedback from the dropped mic wasn’t the only thing drowning out the rest of the song from Lucy’s ears, her mind now a hazy swarm of passion. Rick ran rough hands up and down the inside of her top and mouthed hungrily over her lips, eating her embarrassment like candy. He pushed her aggressively against the wall on stageright. Lucy’s revulsion at this delusional act of drunken show-and-tell melted away faster than she could have consciously caught, and she began grinding against her horny husband’s massive bulge.

The previously dead bar was now cheering so loud the club owner’s screams of terror could barely be heard.

Lucy knew that as soon as the crowd started shouting them on, Rick would be unquenchable. Sure enough, the constant “fuck yeah, dude!”s and “Go! Go! Go!”s caused the tumescent tent in Rick’s trousers to twitch like mad, without Lucy even having to touch it. She moaned loudly into his mouth and scraped her nails against his scalp. With the other hand, she speedily yanked his shirt out of his pants and roughly rubbed his tight tummy and pecs, heaving and perspiring heavily.

“Sir?! Ma’am?!” screamed the club owner from the back of the room. Her meek disposition was gone. “Would you two mind STEPPING OFF THE STAGE?!”

At that last word, Lucy was snapped back to reality. She gasped and reassessed the situation like she’d just woken from a dream; Rick’s right hand was between her legs underneath her skirt, his left along the back of her head, his tongue on her neck, tasting the sweet sweat from her passionate, energetic, and addicting timidity. “Umm …” she muttered to herself. Pushing the heated Rick off her momentarily, only for him to continue trying to finger her through her underwear, she picked up the mic. “Th-th-thank you, everyone,” she squeaked, her voice dripping with desperation. “That was my h-h-husbannn - RICK?!” she screamed when he reached a nerve, his cold fingers sending a sharp wave of electrifying tingles. “Rick, what the fuck - ?! Wow, isn’t he the greatest?” She laughed nervously after that sarcasm. “Jeeze, first time I’ve spoken in front of a crowd on a stage! Isn’t this so great?” She was rambling, her mind switching between lust-fueled fantasy land at the hands of Rick’s exploration and the horrid reality that she was getting a handjob in front of a group of drunken barhoppers. “I’m - we’re - I’m gonna go fuck his brains out now!” The adrenaline was enough to transfer her anger to confidence, having shouted that in a public place, and she dropped the mic again, letting the room hear her sassy feedback. She didn’t care. She was going to make this gross show-off’s act worth it.

“STOP ABUSING MY EQUIPMENT!” the engineer fumed from the soundboard, no doubt ready to quit this unforgiving job.

Lucy pushed Rick aside, possessively grabbed him by the shirt, and strode to the bathroom at what felt like the speed of light. She reveled in the cheers and whistles from the barhoppers, whose bored booze-riddled nights were now saved. “Go get him, girl,” shouted a particularly drunk woman, sitting on the table.

“Eyyyyy, you know it,” Rick responded, winking at the lady.

Lucy kicked the bathroom door open, not even knocking first. Thankfully, it was empty, and she immediately locked the door and went to town on Rick’s face, licking, teething, and biting everything from his tongue to his neck to his earlobes. He reciprocated so faithfully, he lost all coordination, and they were soon tumbling against the lone stall.

Lucy’s mind buzzed, but she still had a plan. “ _ R-Rick _ ,” she whispered. His attempt at an apology wasn’t gonna cut it tonight.

“Mm?” he answered, barely able to get a sentence out.

“You wanna be tied up, babe?” She unsnaked her arms from his shoulders and rubbed his wrists with assertion.

Rick breathed in heavily, already pleading so much that all hindrance was gone, but he whined an uncertainty. Was he ready to give up his dominance of her on stage this quickly?

“Nng, I know you want to, babe …” Her hand fit deep inside his pants. She found his balls pressed against one of his pant legs and tugged on them, rolling them around in her fingers.

“ _ Ffuuuucck _ ,” Rick breathed, sinking lower and lower to the ground, ready to submit. “Fuck yeah, bitch, do it.”

She situated herself so she was straddling him, her soaking panties pressed against his now successfully unzipped pants. She pulled their tops off, breaking a few buttons on hers in a speedy yank, and gripped his thin wrists together with one hand. Using his sweat-stained shirt, and not taking her eyes off the dilated pupils roaming on the bite mark he left on her neck, she fashioned an extremely tight knot through a pipe that peeked out the drywall. It was a sturdy pipe, small enough to slide his shirt around, but big enough to hold him in place. He was now sitting on the paper towel-covered ground, his arms above his head, wrists tied together to the pipe. He squirmed, an anguish on his face Lucy enjoyed seeing way too much.

Now having all control, she tore off her bra and continued humping against his bulge. She encased him with her sweating arms, and pressed his face to her bobbing breasts, her nipples protruding from the contact. His tongue was now out, lapping her sweating boobs, teeth kneading the soft skin, going faster and harsher with each pleasured pant.

Lucy pulled up the front of her skirt and pulled down her panties so they bunched by her knees. She’d kicked her Mary Jane’s off, her tiny toes curling with anticipation through the patterned socks. She lowered her head to Rick’s crotch, pulling his full precum-soaked length forth from its pants prison. Pushing his jeans further down his legs, she stroked harshly with her left hand; swiftly, unforgivingly, toying with his wet head and thumbing his frenulum with each squeeze. She could feel his frantic heartbeat through his shaft. With a lick of her lips, she kneeled down and hovered over his left nut, sucking and softly popping the ball in and out of her wet mouth.

Rick’s inhales were gasping frustration, and each exhale a breathy midrange moan through his nose. His uncharacteristic backseat position was such a secret button of his that his libidinous thirst could barely be expressed quietly. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered. As he sucked sharp breaths through his teeth, he stared helplessly at the salaciousness in his wife’s face when she continued lacing her tongue around his ballsack. It was growing tighter by the minute.

Lucy’s right hand found its way to her wetness, sliding along the slit slowly, extracting every ounce of subtle nerve stimulation she could. With a glazed look in her eye, she gave Rick’s length one final lick and straddled him again.

His cock was so desperate, he tried shooting it up her pussy once it was in position, but Lucy jumped out of the way. “Hey, watch the eagerness,  _ slut _ ,” she murmured with a sick licentious tone. Patting the side of his sweating face and smirking when he flinched, she continued, “You’re not done with your apology yet …”

Rick’s breathing quickened. “What the - what the fuck are you talking about?” He had visible flushed cheeks, the submission sweating down his temples, his hair in complete dishevelment.

Now it was Lucy’s turn to smile ear to ear as she lowered herself onto his eagerness, slowly and steadily, making him wait for every wall she let him pass through. His whine of pleasure was long and strained, a shiver shooting right through him. Finally, after waiting for his impatience to surface, a salty Lucy slapped her hips against his, pushing him through her tight pussy at an assertive rhythm.

Rick’s fingers twitched above his head, the veins in his hands pushed forth from his frantic heartbeat and circulation depravity in his wrists. Lucy’s wet hand spider-walked across his chest, then up to grasp and fit their fingers into each other. She slammed their lips together, their breaths forming a double Guinness cocktail, promiscuously pungent like the mixing scents on their twitching hands.

Breaking away after giving him a taste, the redhead asked in her deep breathy register, “Do you want me like this, Rick?”

“ _ Nnggh _ , you bet your horny ass I want you like this,” he snarled.

“ _ Tell me _ …”

“Mmm, you’re so … hot when you’re flushed so bad, you g-get dominant as fuck … I want you to fuck me senseless, Lucy …”

“Hmm?” Lucy pushed further, thrusting deeper, and pulling lightly on her husband’s puckered right nipple. She closed in on his ear. “What was that, you - ” She breathed in sharply, then with another moan finished, “... you lecherous asshole?”

“ _ Fuck _ , I-I-I-I  _ need _ you so bad … fffuck, unngg … I need you let me cum inside you, Lucy, just … let go all up in that tight cunt, bitch - ”

Lucy’s teasing knew no bounds, and she sucked harshly on his earlobe. “Well, I do believe you still owe me …  _ unng _ … a proper apology …”

His voice rose, his eyes transfixed to the ceiling, his brows pursed in a look of painful longing. “Fucking  _ stop _ and let me cum alreadyyy … ” He couldn’t find the right insult, words failing him in this desperate high. “Don’t. You. DARE,” his conniving voice demanded when he spied her smirk.

Finally, she enacted her full plan. Just as he did earlier, as soon as she felt him reach his boiling point, balls constricted and hot cock surging, she let up entirely and pushed him out.

“FUCK!” he shouted, seething, spit trailing down the side of his cheek. “ _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, piss, ass, fuck, tits, ass, B*BURP*ITCH _ !” His curled cock humped the empty air where his wife’s hot lips used to be and looked ready to burst open. He gritted his teeth and stared at her furiously, trying to writhe free of his wrist restraints.

Lucy only laughed, still under a salty smirk, and finished herself off in front of him. She pulled at her pinkness, stretching the lips so Rick could feast his bloodshot eyes, and squirted all over her hand. The haze had finally lifted and she was back to the begging sweating mess of passion she wasn’t earlier. Her full body convulsed, her hands quivering along her swollen slit, her wetness dripping down her thighs. The clear droplets streamed along her socks and collected on the tiled floor, the remnants of her satisfaction taunting Rick’s vein-laden eagerness. Those droplets were supposed to be streaming down  _ his  _ length, submerging  _ his _ fucking cock in the dripping glory of her released pleasure.

She sat there for a minute, catching her heavy breaths, half-lidded eyes gazing upon Rick’s pathetic tied form. His penis was pressed to his stomach at full, awaiting, vibrating mast, another round of precum bubbling through his head and collecting on the tight fatless area around his bellybutton. “Rick,” came her breathy released sigh.

“What, bitch?!” he groaned. “Y-y-you not done? Come on, my cock’s fucking  _ aching _ , just get back on it? P-p-please?”

She could tell how much effort it took to squeeze that last word out, but she wouldn’t let up. Instead, she got redressed, slipping her skirt, bra, then buttoned shirt back on. She was getting such a rush seeing Rick’s eye twitch with distress that her fingers fidgeted re-buttoning the top. “Sorry, babe.” She clicked her tongue. “I’ll let you cum later tonight, how’s that sound?”

“Lucyyyyyyyyy,” Rick’s strained vocal chords hummed, his eyes closed and about ready to tear up.

“Later tonight it is then.” Using just the nail of her right index finger, she trailed down his chin. He tried to bite that finger, so deprived of sensuous touch he would have sucked it dry. “Don’t you go anywhere, hun.” She waved the finger in the air and, with a kick in her step, made her exit.

“The fuck?! Y-y-y-you can’t just leave me in here!”

“Oh, you’ll love the attention! Just like I had to endure all night, especially when everyone stared at the wife of the heckling punk in the Ramones shirt gettin’ a handjob.” She unlocked the door with a sharp  _ click _ . “I’ll be back when the club closes in 30 minutes, you’ll be fiiiiine.” With a giggle, she blew a kiss at him and opened the door.

“Lucy! You mother fucking bitch! Come back!”

His voice grew muffled and far away when she closed the door behind her, donning a look of vindication. Another line had formed around the bathroom, this time no doubt made up of interested bar-goers listening in on the action. “Try not to stare, buddy,” she advised one of the men, his bottle falling out of his hand. “He likes eyes on him way too much.”

Confidence achieved and a newfound rush in her stomach, she sat herself down at the same table, relishing the confused stares the remaining crowd gave her, particularly the eyes on the broken buttons around her breasts. She sat back and, finally relaxed and happy, enjoyed the sounds of the last couple karaoke sessions of the night.

* * * *

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” the club owner stated into the damaged mic, absolutely done with this night. “Eventful evening is over, go home, drinks are done.”

Lucy yawned and collected a $10 tip, with an extended elaborate apology in note form. Gathering her purse and jacket, she waltzed to their waitress and handed her the crumpled papers. The woman grabbed her reward, handed Lucy Rick’s leather jacket from the stage, and said, flatly, “You better go get him.”

“On it.”

Lucy knocked on the bathroom door before slowly cracking it open. Rick’s head was leaning to the side, restlessly asleep and snoring against his raised right arm. His left leg was bent upright against the stall, his raging boner still resting against his rising and falling stomach. His fingertips twitched with every couple intakes of vibrating breath, sweat trickling down his forehead and drool dripping down his tricep.

The smiling redhead knelt before him, placing a light kiss to his forehead and a palm to his face. “Honey?” she muttered softly.

Not a particularly heavy sleeper, Rick made a soft sound in his throat and his eyelids snapped open. His pupils shrunk, readjusting from the light, then dilated again once he met Lucy’s gaze. He wiped his drool with his arm and scanned the room, his breath quickening, the hunger returning in his glazed red eyes.

Biting her lip, Lucy glanced at his still fully erect penis. It pulsed. “Closing time, love,” she whispered, her hand on his face traveling down his bare chest.

“And, and, and?” he asked, want in his tired vocal chords.

“You ready to cum yet?”

“W-w-what do you fucking think?!” He shook his propped-up leg, the movement sending ripples through his tight balls.

“Just one more small apology, then the orgasm’s all yours.” Her fingers walked down from his chest towards his pubic area.

Rick breathed heavily and rolled his eyes. In a slurry sleepy voice, he complied. “Alright. I’m s-s-s- … ssSORRY, Lucy, for embarrassing you tonight. I was being a selfish anarchist asshole and I also shouldn’t have pulled you on stage like that without your consent, bladdy blah.”

“You really mean that?”

Rick made a pained noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes tightly.

“That’s all I needed.” She finally,  _ finally _ , laced a finger around his cock, and he blew immediately, the contact so wanted, so  _ needed _ , that any and all touch was enough to shock wave an orgasm through his begging body. He was so entranced by her domination, so addicted to her want to please and tease, he was wholeheartedly subservient. She moved only slightly along the shaft and the plentiful cum rained down his pecs, down his chest, and down his girthy length. He squirmed, grit his teeth, used every cuss word in the American and British dictionary he could find in his giant brain, and let out one last, long, lewd, lingering moan. He laughed through the deprived orgasm pain snaking through his muscles, now finally released and filling him with unbearably pleasurable fatigue.

Rinsing her husband’s seed off her fingers and off his chest, she scanned his relieved body, a slight hesitation surfacing again. “Y-you okay, sweetie?”

Rick nodded half-heartedly, too lost in an orgasmic haze to speak.

“Let’s go home.” Lucy untied the makeshift restraints. Their prisoner slowly folded his pained arms on his lap, rolling his shoulders around, trying to get the cramped knot out. He wiped the rest of his drool off with the T-shirt he was reunited with. He could barely get the shirt back on, his limbs shaking.

“Here,” Lucy offered, and helped him get dressed like a defenseless warrior wounded in battle. She knew he needed more aftercare. “You want me to carry you?” she asked sweetly, absent of anything derogatory.

Rick only worked up the strength to nod again, his eyelids fluttering.

Luckily, his skinny frame weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. Lucy reached around, propped him up on his feet, then grabbed his waist and hoisted him over her shoulder. Using her leg strength, she got them both out the door.

By the time they exited the club, Rick was already out cold again, and when Lucy successfully found a taxi, she laid his head down on her lap. He unconsciously cuddled up against her in a fetal position, mumbling incoherently. She ran her fingers through his messy hair and watched the downtown lights flash on and off against his tranquil face when the taxi took to the street.

“Love you, Rick, you asshole,” she whispered with another trademark smirk. A pause and snore-filled second later, and she added, “But at least you’re  _ my _ asshole.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading along folks!


End file.
